


Written in the Leaves

by building_a_desert



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Established Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Fingering, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/building_a_desert/pseuds/building_a_desert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d been intimate with Rick for several months, had breached more boundaries with the older man than with anyone else, and yet, for him, making conscious observations about activities in the bedroom, let alone initiating any of them, were things he hadn’t grown any more confident in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written in the Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Requested from a lovely little anon:  
> "i have a prompt if you are interested in writing it! carl stealing and wearing one of ricks shirts, rick loves it and fucks him while carl's still wearing it"
> 
> Took about twelve hours on-and-off because I really really suck at doing one thing. Hopefully you like it, wherever you are~ <3
> 
> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

* * *

            

 

                 There really wasn’t anything particularly _questionable_ to Carl about using one of his father’s shirts. The state of things, the world that is, resulted in clothing stained by the unimaginable, and laundry was a luxury. That’s why, when Carl realized he’d run out of clean clothes (a petty problem that actually felt good to have, felt _normal_ ) it made sense to borrow from the older man.

 

                Fresh out of the shower and shifting through Rick’s dresser, the teen eyed the limited variety of cotton shirts, fingers running over fabric with an air of reverence. Settling on a worn black button up, Carl let his towel drop to the floor, and, after tugging on a pair of white boxer briefs, slipped his dad’s shirt over his shoulders. He took the time to do a few buttons up as the familiar musk embedded within the material settled over him. Having the man’s shirt on felt vaguely reminiscent of being enveloped in his arms, though Carl knew he definitely preferred the real thing.

 

                Glancing around the dimly lit room at the rapidly setting sun, the boy tended to his nightly ritual of securing and covering all windows, leaving no gap exposed. He lit two tea lights, one on the floor beside the door left ajar, the other on their bedside table.

 

                Rick, having spent most of the day with his son out tending to their meager garden, was currently in the kitchen harvesting the meat from a turkey he’d managed to catch the day prior. Carl knew the man enjoyed his solitude during the preparation process, something he respectfully gave. A hunter and his prey have a certain intimacy Carl saw no need to intrude upon.

 

                It wasn’t hard giving each other privacy, despite the exceptionally small size of farm house they stumbled upon. More akin to a cottage than anything, it was cozy with brick and mortar walls. Insulation wasn’t the best during the summer months, and winter called for a remarkable amount of skin-on-skin contact at night (something that still managed to send a little thrill through the boy.) But the fertile ground, isolated location, functioning well _and_ a manual waterheating system tended to sealed the deal.

 

                The boy knew his father worked at his own pace, most likely having lit a candle of his own after ensuring the security of the rest of the house; there was no telling how long it would take the man to finish, though more than likely Carl will have fallen asleep by then.

 

                Resigned to an early night’s rest, the teen turned and caught sight of his reflection within the bedroom’s full-length mirror. He paused a moment; dressed in just his underwear and Rick’s shirt created an image Carl hadn’t been prepared for. The sleeves fell long and heavy past his hands, leaving only the tips of his fingers to peek out. He’d left the top few buttons open, which he now realized gave an almost indecent view of his collarbone and upper chest. He felt suddenly much more aware, recognizing the implication such a scene suggested. He’d been intimate with Rick for several months, had breached more boundaries with the older man than with anyone else, and yet, for him, making conscious observations about activities in the bedroom, let alone _initiating_ any of them, were things he hadn’t grown any more confident in.

 

                Turning away from himself and feeling a little hot under the collar, Carl crawled into the double bed, pulling just the sheet over his body. The boy could make out his father’s scent, stronger now, with his head resting on Rick’s pillow. He wriggled slightly, trying to move into a comfortable position and finding no relief. Absently, his fingers drifted across his stomach, tracing idle lines while his mind wandered.

 

                There was something salacious about wearing someone else’s clothing, the boy noted, something personal and intimate and painfully _trusting_ of both parties. And there wasn’t, nor could there ever be, someone Carl trusted more than his own father.

 

                He felt a familiar stirring in his lower abdomen, thoughts drifting to the ways Rick had strayed off the path of morality to protect his son, had sacrificed so much just for him, always for him.. _only_ for him. The intensity of the love Carl and his father shared was unrivaled by anything he’d ever known, a notion that only ignited more sensitivity throughout his young body.

 

                But the magnitude of their feelings met its catalyst in the form of their coupling. When Rick took charge, whispered sweet words of encouragement into his ear, Carl was lost to the world and knew only his father. Having had no experience before the end of the world to intimately explore his body, and no privacy to try after, Carl often felt lost, swept away with the older man. As if sensing this uncertainty, this need for an anchor, his father would often entwine their fingers, pin them to the bed and kiss the boy senseless.

 

                Length hardening beneath his underwear, Carl’s slipped the constricting garment down his thighs far enough to free himself. Taking himself in hand, he threw his free arm over his mouth, biting slightly on the material covering his forearm, working to only heighten the scent of his father. He automatically inhaled deeper, his body straining instinctively to seek _more_ of that scent.

                When Rick stroked the boy, it was with a sure hand, firm but never painful. Carl’s movements were uncertain, uncoordinated, but he knew what felt good. More thoughts came unbidden, blooming into fantasies inspired by memories.

 

                The teen rocked into his own movements, trying to imagine a larger hand wrapped hot and _strong_ around his dick, could almost convince himself he lay naked with his father’s clothed form pressed to him. He yearned for dirty words spoken directly into his ear, for a heavy, hard body holding him down with the utmost care and patience.

 

                Carl wanted his father to prove he belonged to the man. Wanted to be taken, claimed, made a mess of. Movements increasing, the boy felt a whimper spill from his mouth, trying to muffle himself, not wanting to draw attention, not knowing how to ask, not wanting to be a bother –

 

                “Oh, _sweetheart_.”

 

                Carl’s eyes flew open, hand withdrawing as if burned.

 

                “D-dad,” he half-gasped, sitting up and hastily pulling his underwear back up, “I, I was—”

 

                But what did he even _say?_ Why was he ashamed? Should he have not done this without Rick? But a glance at the man’s face showed not disappointment, not anger, not – Carl’s heart skipped a beat – disgust, but something he could only describe as _adoration._

 

                Before he got the chance to further attempt an explanation, Rick crossed the room in a few long strides. Taking a seat beside the boy, he raised one hand to the silky hair of his child, carding through the locks; the other strayed lower, dipping under his shirt before advancing up the length of his son’s spine, trailing back down in a lazy pattern.

 

                “Just how long,” he murmured, accent thick and heavy, “did I let you suffer in here by yourself?”

 

                Carl let out a shaky laugh, hands habitually grasping onto the man’s shirt, as if his body couldn’t stand to not be touching the others. His eyes hesitantly met the somewhat teasing, but deeply intent gaze of his father.

 

                “It wasn’t that long,” he replied, weighing each word like a potential landmine, “I just wasn’t sure if you were coming to bed anytime soon and kind of just..” he trailed off, breaking eye contact as well.

 

                “Hey.” Rick’s voice commanded a slightly more authoritative tone, a tone Carl was raised to respond to, something he did without hesitation. His father’s face however, was kind, imploring.

 

                “Don’t you ever be ashamed around me. Not about this. Not about us.” He looked so earnest, so _honest_ , fingertips tracing the boy’s cheekbone.

 

                Carl felt his breath catch as the hand on his back descended quickly, cupping his slightly wilted erection through his underwear. The teen’s body reacted in kind, accidentally letting out a cry of surprise mixed with pleasure.

 

                Leaning forward, Rick lips captured his son’s, swallowing all the needy, breathy moans as his tongue toyed with Carl’s, easily leading the kiss. Carl felt his hair gripped tighter, not controlling, but guiding, providing a pillar of support.

 

                Instinctively, he relaxed, feeling more pliant as his father took care of him. They parted for breath, Carl’s lips tingling from the man’s beard, feeling much more sensitive. Both of his father’s large, capable hands moved to briefly grasp his hips before pushing him further up the bed and onto his back. Rick settled between Carl’s legs and hovered above the teen, resting his weight on one hand next to the mess of brown hair on the pillow. His other hand traced a line down a smooth cheek, following the jawline, and trailing down a collarbone right down to the sternum.

 

                Carl’s eyes watched Rick’s face the whole time, taking in the sweeping gaze of a cop, taking note of the way those sharp blue eyes dilated at the center, how his father’s own lips, looking a little swollen themselves, quirked upwards.

 

                “This looks familiar,” he drawled, deft fingers undoing the topmost button on Carl’s shirt, caressing his skin in random patterns, “What made you put it on?”

 

                “Needed a shirt,” Carl replied, a little cheekily, sensing the angle Rick was taking, but not making it easy on him.

 

                “Didn’t _need_ one,” Rick murmured, leaning down to lay soft kisses along his boy’s throat, “You were just goin’ to bed, slept naked before.” The kisses became heavier, less gentle presses of lips and more sucking, a hint of teeth at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Rick continued travelling downwards, placing a slow, deep kiss to each bit of skin exposed until the shirt, _Rick’s_ shirt, lay parted on either side of his son’s torso. Carl’s breaths came faster, absently rocking into the lap of his father and moaning at the rigid hardness he found there.

 

                “I didn’t – didn’t mean anything by it,” he gasped, meant to continue, but was only able to moan as those sturdy hands grabbed his hips again and held him in place as Rick rubbed his own clothed erection against his son’s.

 

                “Oh it means somethin’,” Rick’s voice was throaty, impatiently stripping the boy of his boxer briefs until he was bare from the waist down. Leaning forward again, he resumed his ardent treatment of the teen’s delicate neck, mouthing roughly while he reached between their bodies, stroking Carl’s length.

 

                Turning his face to hide in the pillow, Carl tried to muffle his cry as he felt those thick fingers encompass him to the point that only the head peeked out, weeping precum. His father pumped him at a steady rate, playing him like a finely tuned instrument when his thumb swiped over the tip. Jerking forward, the boy could only grasp tightly to Rick’s biceps, feeling the tightly corded muscles underneath his clothing.

 

                “Dad,” he said quietly, voice unsteady, while his hands tugged at the hem of his father’s shirt, urging him to undress, “please.”

 

                “Not yet, darlin’,” Rick replied, breath hot bursts against his ear, “This one’s for you.”

 

                The boy thrust up into the firm fist, eyes squeezed shut as his body writhed beneath the heavier weight of his father. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on, he had already been so close when Rick came in; at this point he was doing all he could not to lose complete control, but he had been losing that battle the whole time too.

 

                “I can’t – I can’t –” Carl’s voice rose in pitch, positively keening, trying so hard to maintain a safe level of sound. The pumping increased in speed, the teen doing all he could just to keep up.

 

                “You _can_ ,” Rick whispered, and his son was gone, legs bracing around the man’s body. White ropes shot from Carl’s length, coating the alabaster skin of his torso and staining the black cotton of his shirt.

 

                Panting, feeling lost, untethered and panicking slightly, Carl reached up blindly and tugged his father down, licking into his mouth, _needing_ the small act of familiar stability. This way he could come down safely, slowly. No rush, no fear of falling without a safety net. Rick responded by wrapping one arm around his boy’s torso, the other cupping the back of his head.

 

                They remained entwined for a few minutes, needing to disperse some small amount of tension, and simply exist with each other for a moment. Giving one last, lingering kiss, Carl pulled away, meeting the fierce glint in his father’s gaze.

 

                “Now you,” he said, voice coming out softer than intended, though he felt marginally more in control of himself, “I want you.”

 

                Slowly, he led Rick’s hand down, past his slowly reawakening member, behind his balls, before releasing the larger hand. He felt the man trail his own fingers over Carl’s perineum before coming to a stop at his entrance. The dexterous fingertips circled the tight ring of muscles, causing the young teen to gasp, tensing up as blood once again flowed through his hardening cock. Carl’s arms slipped around Rick’s neck, needing as much skin contact as possible. Rick’s breath came hot and heavy on his neck, lips and teeth leaving marks along the skin there.

 

                “What part of me d’ya want?” The older man’s voice came out husky, breathless, betraying his very obvious need for release. Despite this, and the somewhat teasing air he still tried to produce, Rick meant the question seriously, would do whatever Carl asked him to and no more.

 

                The boy pushed back against the fingers at his entrance, heedless of their dry texture, just needing _something_ of his father’s inside of him. They denied him, of course, Rick having always taken preparing his son incredibly seriously. Groaning, Carl shook his head, unsure of how to answer with words, wanting to rely on _body_ language.

 

                “Your f-fingers, or tongue or your –” Carl blurted out whatever he could before catching himself, the last word refusing to come out. “Just anything, all of you, _please._ ” He knew how desperate he must have looked, pleading for his father to wreck him, to do whatever the man wanted, but that frenzied _need_ was something he knew they both shared.

 

                A strained chuckle followed by the press of lips to his temple. “Whatever you need, Carl.”

 

                Rick pulled away from the boy, sitting up and resting his weight on his knees. Carl watched, keeping eye contact as his father quickly stripped off his own shirt, revealing the toned canvas of his torso. In the dim light it was always hard to make out any details, but Carl knew of the scars littering the man’s skin, had traced his fingers along them countless times, had each one memorized down to the time, place, and reason. They only served to prove to him how much his father had come back from, would continue to come back from, for him.

 

                “Do you mind turnin’ around for me?” asked Rick, fingers framing one side of Carl’s face, “Not for long, just to get you ready.” His expression was painfully open, genuinely asking if it would make the boy uncomfortable. At the first small flutter of apprehension welling up in his chest, Carl acted quickly to stomp it back out; there was no place for fear with his father. He knew there was no place safer than the man’s arms, his bed.

 

                Not quite trusting his voice, the teen nodded, then rolled onto his front, conscious of the one-man audience directly behind him. Carl rested his chin on the bed, hands fisted in the sheets while his knees propped himself up; it was a perverse display that, judging by the sharp intake of breath and muttered curse, was well received.

 

                Carl watched out of the corner of his eye as Rick pulled the bedside drawer open to retrieve a simple tube. It took only a few moments before he felt the distinctly wet pressure of a single finger at his opening. He relaxed as best he could, remembering how the very same man taught him through hushed words and gentle, guiding touches. He still couldn’t contain the soft whining exhale that escaped, burying his face in the pillow, feeling the buildup starting again.

 

                “You have any idea what you look like, sweetheart? What you’re doin’ to me?”

 

                The pet name made him whimper, feeling particularly vulnerable when that single digit began its gradual easing out before driving home again. The boy shook his head, knowing he’d be informed either way.

 

                “Look at you, on your knees.” Carl felt Rick drape himself over his back, bracing his weight on one arm while the other suddenly worked from a different angle, one finger becoming two and suddenly _that much deeper_.

 

                “Wrapped in _my_ shirt,” the words were muttered harshly into his ear, followed by borderline desperate kisses along the back of his neck, “Can you feel my fingers, Carl? Is this enough?” A sharp suck to an already-forming bruise, fingers began entering quicker, pace increasing.

 

                "Yes!” the boy cried, not sure what he was agreeing to, just needing whatever his father would give him, whatever he _could_ give him, “I don’t – I need more, something, something _deeper_ or – or –”

 

                A third finger began sinking in now, spreading him further and allowing Rick’s middle finger to crook just so until the teen saw stars, that tiny bundle of nerves finally receiving the stimulation he craved.

 

                “Hhnn, right there,” he gasped out, rocking back, “Ohgodplease _again.”_

 

                 Carl couldn’t keep track of how long his father took preparing him, only that he felt thoroughly stretched by the time he was gently rolled back over. His eyes, he knew, were heavily glazed, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. He silently locked gazes with Rick, taking note that, at some point, the man had stripped himself of his pants as well, leaving him entirely bare.

 

                “You okay?” Rick asked, caressing his son’s cheek, touch so gentle Carl would think he was holding something delicate as glass. He felt his chest swell, suddenly so thankful to have this man as his father, to be so deeply bound to him in an irreversible way.

 

               Swallowing, he nodded again, feeling the first wave of desperation licking at his heels. “I’m fine,” he replied, trailing his fingers down Rick’s arms and back up again, maintaining eye contact, “I just – I need you right now.”

 

                Waiting a beat, Rick searched his son’s face, before giving a nod of his own. Whatever he saw, clearly it passed the test because next thing Carl knew, one of his thighs was grasped gently but firmly and spread slowly to one side. The teen watched his father administer lube to his swollen cock, taking his time, making sure to evenly coat his every inch. The boy felt his mouth water at the sight, feeling suddenly twice as frantic.

 

                “ _Dad_ ,” he pleaded, breath coming out in small pants.

 

                Without a word, Rick grasped himself by the base and positioned himself at his boy’s entrance. Even still, he waited a beat, his expression silently asking permission one last time. Carl’s face must have portrayed just how badly he was _craved_ this, _needed_ it, because without further preamble, the thick head of Rick’s cock breached his son’s opening.

 

                Simultaneous vocalization sounded throughout the room, a groan and a cry. Rick always forced himself to stop halfway, always stopped to check Carl’s face, how tense he was, if he needed to pull out. Carl, wanting only one thing at that point, used his free leg as leverage to pull his father in closer. The thick, hot length slid deeper inside his body, causing the boy to moan breathily. Rick, caught off guard, couldn’t control the involuntary thrust of his hips, forcing himself in as deeply as possible before grasping for control again.

 

                “Carl,” he whispered sharply, hands wandering, seeking to soothe. They settled on the boy’s wrists, gentle, not restraining, but supporting. “Are you alright?”

 

                Groaning, this time in a mixture of exasperation and arousal, Carl rocked forward, trying to force Rick’s cock deeper still. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he reassured, feeling dazed, searching for the right words, “Please, _dad_ , just _fuck_ me.”

 

                Apparently this was the permission Rick was waiting for because within a moment, the man’s entire demeanour seemed to changed. While still attentive, possibly even more so, the intensity suddenly amplified. The fingers securing his arms to the bed tightened marginally right before the first heavy thrust jolted his body upwards. A thrill went through him when he realized he remained mostly in place thanks to Rick’s restraining hands, something he derived entirely too much comfort from. Each subsequent movement only served to solidify the notion that he was being utterly taken care of, that he need only give control up to his father for things to feel this good.

 

                Tiny puffs of air against his neck regularly sent shivers down his spine. Carl couldn’t seem to keep his mouth closed, couldn’t breathe without gasping, but with each snap of Rick’s hips, little fucked-out noises were forced from his lips. He tried to quiet his own voice, but it seemed his father was doing everything in his power to achieve the opposite effect.

 

                Carl tightened his thighs around the older man, urging him on, needing to display his willingness to participate, that he wanted this just as badly as his father did. Rick only let out a stuttered groan, hands releasing the boy’s wrists and instead bracing one under the small of Carl’s back, the other grasping the teen’s aching, neglected member.

 

                The additional burst of pleasure caused Carl to tighten up, inner muscles rhythmically squeezing Rick’s cock as his young body became conflicted, wanting to thrust upwards and rock back at the same time. His breaths came as whimpers now, thoughts only on the man above him, inside him. His existence relied entirely upon his father, on the cock currently pounding into him. The thought only further enticed him, made him feel more, need more. His arms tugged his father down again, kissing him with an intensity reserved for moments like these.

 

                “Please, please, please,” he chanted against Rick’s lips, uncertain of his mind’s bridge between word and thought. The heat continued to pool in his stomach, rising in crescendo. He could feel the man’s heartbeat, could feel the head battering his prostate, the words mouthed into his skin. The thought of the pleasure his father must have been feeling, of his restraint, holding back for the sake of his son, all did unspeakable things to his mind. But it was the thought of Rick’s semen, churning in the balls slapping obscenely against him, releasing inside him that did him in.

 

                All he could think of was how _right_ it seemed, orgasm washing over him, every muscle tensing, breath coming out in drawn out whines and gasps. Carl became limp, letting his father’s hands grip his body tightly, driven mad with desire at that point.

 

                If he hadn’t just found release, the boy was sure he would have when he felt Rick’s entire body tense, could hear the strained groan making an effort to escape, but most importantly, could feel the pulsing of his father’s cum filling him up, marking him from the inside out. He intentionally tightened up, pulling a grunt from the man as well as a few more involuntary thrusts, instincts telling Rick to plant his seed deeper, a truth that Carl knew he’d be dwelling on later.

 

                There was a comfortable silence, filled only by their slowing heartbeats and the soft sounds of lips meeting lips. Rick pulled back first, though the arms Carl slipped around his neck kept the man from pulling away entirely, leaving his softening cock inside his boy.

 

                Carl’s eyes fluttered open when Rick shifted again and, giving just a nod of his head, braced himself when he felt the familiar, comfortable fullness disappear. Rick rolled onto his side, though quickly pulled Carl into his arms and a blanket over top the both of them. The teen felt a little too raw yet to do much, and let himself be cradled. The after effects of physical closeness often left him a little shell-shocked, vulnerable even.

 

                “I love you so much,” was whispered into his hair, a sentiment he returned, and tried to say so, though his body’s energy was all but depleted. Carl’s mumbled response received a soft chuckle and a tug closer to Rick’s chest. The thumping right below his ear served as something like a lullaby, he noted sleepily. Tailor-made for him.

 

                “C’mon now,” said his father’s low voice, a careful, incredibly gentle hand running through his hair, “Let’s get some sleep. I’ll be right here, for you, the minute you wake up.”

**Author's Note:**

> humdrum-star.tumblr.com~ Aaaalways accepting prompts folks <3


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